


soft words and many kisses

by houtarou



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Will add tags as I go, lots of kisses, maybe end up nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9597602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houtarou/pseuds/houtarou
Summary: a collection of drabbles in which castiel convinces himself to kiss dean.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello ! this one takes place at the end of s05ep03 in which castiel and dean are driving "home" from talking to raphael. tried my best lmao i've no idea how to write these two.

“You okay?” He didn’t respond. Cas kept his eyes trained forward, focused on the road. It was fascinating, how the lines blurred to create an even flow at this speed. But his mind wasn’t on the quirks and follies of man. 

Dean rolled his eyes and swallowed. He scoffed. “Look, I’ll be the first to tell you - this little crusade of yours is nuts, but…” He shook his head, eyes blank. “I do know a little something about missing fathers.”

Cas pursed his lips. “What do you mean?”

He could hear the minute hesitation. “I mean, there were times when I was looking for my dad when-” he looked out the window- “all logic said that he was dead.” His eyes searched Castiel’s face, and returned to the road when there was no response.

“But I knew - in my heart - he was still alive.”

Maybe Cas shouldn’t have asked what he meant by that. He knew that John Winchester was a sensitive subject to his son. To both of them, but mostly Dean. His hands fisted at his sides, and he licked his lips. Castiel found that to be surprising, to be hosting human reactions at Dean - in general - so soon.

Neither of the two said a word. Dean was  _ happy _ without Sam? Cas couldn’t understand. Wouldn’t humans want to be near someone they loved? Who they wanted to protect? A strange noise came from Dean’s Impala, and Castiel’s eyes darted to his hand turning a knob.

Dean gave Cas a look. “It’s a  _ radio _ .”

“I know that.”

“Ozzy Osbourne knows how to hit it; here,” a smile licked at the edges of his lips as he increased the volume, “listen to it.” His fingers were hitting the steering wheel. Castiel didn’t get it, and stared at Dean, who was singing.

He remembered many things about singing. Humans sang for a multitude of reasons, but it appeared to be most popularly a way to convey emotions. If so, what emotion was Dean conveying at the moment? Castiel watched Dean. His head was bobbing to a guitar noise.

Once Castiel had watched a television. The pixels were too individually distracting to concentrate, and Jimmy Novak had left it on. How did they work? Each pixel worked in it’s own way, and all of the color and humans somehow fit inside such a small box that was pumped with electricity. It was fascinating.

He had seen a scene with a man and a woman. The man appeared to be visually distressed at some unknown event. The woman kissed him, and then they were happy. How did that work? Did the transfer of saliva trigger endorphin in the human brain? That seemed unsanitary and irresponsible.

Castiel glanced over at Dean again. He wasn’t smiling or moving at all, just driving. Castiel always felt as though he was searching for something on Dean, something he didn’t know and something he didn’t find. He cocked his head. Was Dean distressed at some unknown event? His eyes narrowed. Dean was  _ always _ ill at ease. It was exhausting to deal with.

A thought struck him. Before, he’d never known how to help. What could he do, and why would he want to anyways? He served no human. He owed Dean nothing. But no matter where he was, or who he was in, the compelling urge to  _ do _ laced around the heart of the human he wore. That was a very frustrating emotion to deal with.

It is a fire deep within the Christian hearts of those whom Castiel had ever lived in. To be of need, and to be of help. Perhaps it was a lit match within most humans. An unquenchable fire - or, maybe, a fire that Cas couldn’t snuff with merely his presence. Even as a vessel, Jimmy - Cas? - had wanted to  _ help _ for as long as he’d known Dean.

There was more to Dean than the disrespectful attitude and the sneer. Castiel could see the broken pieces inside of him. Dean had almost spat on him the last time Cas had tried to bring up the matter. He’d said something about a bandage. Oh, yes - his tasteful language was another quirk of humans. “Band-aids don’t heal this type of stuff, Cas - don’t try and bullshit me with your manipulative lies.” That’s what he’d said.

It really must not have been a good day for Dean.

Castiel swallowed. If he was going to try, he might as well try now. He reached for the knob and turned the music down. All the way down. Dean shot him a look, one hand on the wheel. “Cas, what the-”

Castiel’s eyes were wide. He exhaled and grabbed Dean by his chin, trying to remember what the woman had done on television. No, she was gentler than this. He relaxed his grip and pulled his face closer, leaning in simultaneously. Dean had begun to protest with cries of anger, so Cas had to make this quick. He pulled Dean closer and pushed Jimmy’s lips onto his, staring at Dean.

Dean’s face contorted, and he punched Castiel in the face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: after season 5 finale when Castiel is blown to bits, he’s put into an alternate universe. Cas’ punishment for revolting against heaven is to be stuck in the same, alternate type of day where dean dies. For ten years.

Castiel was acting strange. Stranger than usual. Castiel acted strange on a _good day_. He was acting strange, even for him. Angels could only act so strange. His eyes were sunken; tired; more outlined than usual. There was something wrong. “Cas, you feeling okay?” He wouldn’t look at Dean.

 He pursed his lips. “If this is about -”

“I know what you say,” Cas interjected, shoulders sinking. “‘If this is about Destiny from Showgirl, I didn’t realize she would sexualize Christianity so much.’ I know what you say.”

Dean squinted. “Dude, lay off the mind reading.”

Cas met his eyes. “I’m not reading your mind. I promised I wouldn’t.”

Dean looked away and paused. “...Okay.” He smiled bitterly, blinking. “Would you explain the freaky Star Trek stuff then?”

Cas searched for something on Dean’s face. Then he looked down, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”

Dean licked his lips. “Listen, Cas -”

“No, don’t ‘listen, Cas,’ me. I’ve heard it thirty-seven times now.” Cas looked pathetic. Oh, maybe it was a trick of Dean’s eyes - now he looked angry. “Besides, there’s no use ever explaining anything to you anymore. I’ve _tried_.”

“Cas, are you _drunk_.” It wasn’t a question.

“That depends on your definition of ‘ _drunk_ ’.” He closed his eyes. “I can treat you any way I like. You’ll only restart tomorrow. After you die.” Castiel pursed his lips. “I will never, _ever_ , rebel again.” He brought the drink to his lips and downed it in one swallow.

Dean had brought him here after Cas had stared at a wall for six hours. Supposedly, a bar was going to help. Supposedly, he was wrong. It was difficult to watch _Casa Erotica_ when Castiel was either watching paint peel or judging his interests. Judging by the shot glasses filling their table, Dean would have rather dealt with Cas’ obliviously snarky comments.

He winked. “Not gonna lie, Cas, that was better than anything a bartender’s said to me all week.” He took a swig from a bottle, watching the angel out of the corner of his eye.

Cas glared at him. “You haven’t had sex with any bartender in the past fifty days.”

“Lay off the attitude. And the alcohol,” Dean added, pulling Cas’ next drink away from his fingertips. Castiel just watched him with dark eyes. “Thanks for the reminder, Doc. Is there anything else you wanna add?”

“If that’s what you want, then… you’ve watched the same porno every day for two months. You also eat the same bacon cheeseburger with extra ketchup on the top bun and with the tomatoes removed.”

“Okay, Cas.” Dean smiled and stood. “I think it’s time we head back to the apartment.”

Castiel got up as well. “On our way out, you run into a maid on her break who throws a glass of water in your face.” Dean tossed a wad of cash on the table and grabbed Cas by the arm, pulling them both out of the bar. Before they got to the door, Dean ran headlong into a woman who was in tears. She gave them both a withering look and tossed a cup from her hand at Dean with an “asshole” before moving on.

Dean was rendered speechless. He spat out water and glanced at Cas wetly, who shrugged with minute amusement. They left the bar, Dean wiping at his face with one hand, the other still tugging at Cas. He readjusted his trench coat and shrugged off Dean, glowering.

They were both quiet in the Impala. Dean paused a moment, looking almost like he was going to interrupt the silence. He even peered over at Castiel, like he planned on asking something. But then he shook his head and started the car.

“Let me guess,” Cas mumbled once they were on the road. His voice was low. “You are going to indirectly speak of my health and use dry humor as a form of concern for my recent behavior.”

Dean’s jaw hung with confused brows, and then he cocked his head, considering. “An explanation wouldn’t hurt.”

“It wouldn’t help, either. I know how this ends.” Castiel sighed, kept his eyes on the road.

“You seem to know a lot about what’s happening lately.” Dean gave him a shit-eating grin. “Are you God’s little bitch now?”

“Do not speak of my father that way.”

“Are jokes nonexistent in your angel world?”

“You’re being extremely disrespectful, especially considering all He has done for you and Sam.”

Dean was incredulous as he pulled into the motel parking lot. He parked the car and turned to Castiel. “All he’s _done_ for us? You mean making us the vessels for two dicks? Letting Sam drink _demon_ blood? Forcing you to fish me out of Hell? I gotta say,” he spat sarcastically, getting out of the car, “I’m just bending over to show my undying gratitude.” His smile was sour. Castiel left the Impala as well.

“I only did what was asked of me.” Castiel didn’t seem particularly interested in the growing atmosphere, leading the way up the stairs to Dean’s room. “I would rather not listen to your bellyaching, Dean. We have the same argument every day.” He opened the door by putting a card in it’s slot; Dean had given him the spare door card earlier.

“Yeah, it sure seem that way, don’t it. You know what, how about you stop _insisting_ that I show respect for that prick and leave it be.”

“No, Dean.” Cas turned to Dean with hooded eyes. Dean slammed the front door behind him, his expression on an entirely different solar system. “We have had this argument every day for the past two months.”

Dean glared down at Cas with thin lips. “You know, you keep going on and on about how repetitive I’m being, but I guess you just don’t get humans yet. We don’t learn from our mistakes. And maybe,” he paused, licking his lips and shifting his weight, “maybe, you angels can relate.”

“ _Dean_ .” Castiel’s voice was strained, and his eyes closed in the effort. “What I _mean_ , is exactly what I’ve been saying.” Dean was blank with incomprehension. Cas sighed. “I’ve been living this day, _every_ day, for the past two months.” Dean only blinked. “Today is the fifty-second Monday.”

Dean was silent, almost appearing to grasp what Cas was saying. But Castiel knew it was always the same process. It was like God _wanted_ it to happen a specific way, to pull out the most human pain in him possible. To pull it out with precise fingers, so that it wouldn’t continue to affect his decisions. Dean chuckled. “Alright, Cas, let’s get you into bed.” He led the angel by his forearm to the nearest mattress, pushing him towards it.

Castiel gripped him by both of his elbows, staring intensely into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, I mean it,” he urged forcefully. “This is my punishment.”

“Sure.” Dean drove him down onto the bed, trying to pull away from him. Castiel noticed how prominent his crow’s feet became when he was strained. He tightened his grasp on Dean. “Cas,” he muttered, still smiling, “let go.”

“You have to believe me, Dean.”

“I sure do, Cas. Now lay down.”

“Dean Winchester.” Dean’s smile was forced. “I know this is painful, continuing to ignore me.” Dean looked confused, his smile frozen, and Cas put on an amused expression. “After all, this seems relatively similar to Sam’s experience with Gabriel, doesn’t it?” Dean’s eyes darkened. “ _Believe_ me, Dean.”

“That was a low blow.”

“God is punishing me for betraying the angel’s word. I have to live this very day for ten years. I know _everything_ that you do in this day, and _every_ path that I can take. And this is only day fifty-two. You must believe me.”

“So you have to put up with me for ten years? That must be a stinger.” Dean wasn’t smiling. He shoved away Cas’ hands and gave him a burning look. “Go to sleep, Cas.”

He sighed, slumping. “This is another part of my day. Every day, you refuse to believe me, until I do one thing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean was skeptical. “And what on Earth could that be?”

Castiel stood. “It’s almost as if God wishes me to become too attached to say goodbye.” Dean squinted.

He stood close to Dean, looking down at his hands. “At first, I couldn’t do it.” His eyebrows calmed their incessant creasing for once. He looked up at Dean. “In that case, you would be the one to do it. There is no way for me to escape it. Doing it the moment the day restarts only forwards it’s outcome that much sooner.”

“Cas, I…” He started to grin. “I have no idea... _what_ the hell you’re talking about.”

Castiel averted his eyes. “I thought, if I tried my very best, it could perhaps… change your ending.”

“My, what?”

The angel brought his hands to cup Dean’s face, and the latter made a face at the movement, but didn’t move or push him away. “I’m sorry, Dean.” An unseen force gave Castiel a feeling similar to strangulation, and his eyebrows twisted upwards. His voice was even. “This gets me to the next day.” He kissed Dean.

This was Castiel’s fifty-second kiss, so he considered himself a level higher than amateur around the subject of kissing. Dean, in his own case, was a proven professional himself. It hurt Castiel far too much, to go beyond touching their lips, as had happened in past days.

He pulled away, arms going slack at his sides and biting his bottom lip. Dean’s eyes were closed when Cas opened his, and it took a moment for him to open them. When he did, it was slow, almost like he was waking from a dream.

“That is all I need to do.” There was silence. There was always silence. And Castiel always made the same exact mistake. He tried to meet Dean’s eyes.

There was nothing there, besides mild surprise. Dean touched his lips and was _confused_. “Cas, you’re not…”

Castiel deadpanned. “I’m an _angel_ , Dean. Sexuality is not of import. In fact -” he stopped and wrinkled his nose. “That doesn’t matter. You believe me now, don’t you?”

There was nothing for a long moment. Dean seemed more dazed than disgusted. “But…”

Cas’ voice was gritty. “Think about it, Dean. Do you remember why you are alone? Why only you and I are here? Where Sam is? Do you know why you are in this motel? Do you even know what case you’re on, what state you’re in, what motel we’re in?”

Dean was silent. Cas pressed on, desperate for him to understand before it was too late. Again. “You’re not real, Dean.”

The corners of his lips pulled. “Oh, I’m real alright, Cas.” But there was something brewing in his eyes.

Cas’ eyes begged. “Help me, Dean. I need to get out.”

“If this is what you have to do every day for ten years, how bad could that be? It doesn’t seem like I’ve been resisting you all that easily.” Dean appeared to be embarrassed for not openly rejecting Cas. It wasn’t the first time he hadn’t denied him, either.

Cas couldn’t look at him after he said that. He always said that. Damn Dean and his burning repetition. “That’s not all… that happens every day.”

“So…” Dean had a calculating look. “So, if this,” he gestured around the two, “doesn’t matter, then the me - the, the _real_ me, isn’t affected by this here at all?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but nodded, trying to figure out Dean. “That is correct.”

“Oh.” Dean nodded, pouting in thought, and then the two were quiet.

There was a quick, quiet tension. Like the pang of awkwardness between two business workers in an elevator before one gets off. The opening of a door in this scenario was Dean, who lurched forward, cupped Castiel’s face, and smashed his lips onto him.

This was Castiel’s most and least favorite part of every day. His eyes slid shut, and he opened his mouth, hands slinking up and around Dean’s arched back. Dean was the type of human to do what he pleased in what he found to be dreams, especially if they wouldn’t affect him in daily life, and _especially_ if they were deep, dark desires that he loathed to keep.

Dean’s lips were always just as soft as they looked, whether they were tight with disappointment, or parted in anger. Cas could practically see his eyes, squeezed shut, and his eyebrows, furrowed with the mixed feelings of relief and hatred at himself for doing this. Every kiss was the first kiss to Castiel, and every day seeing Dean was just as good as the first.

If this was was God wanted, to extract all of the human emotions stirring inside him, it was and wasn’t working. Whether Dean was biting Castiel’s bottom lip or finding out how he tasted, it was all the same to the angel and - and yet, each one was _different_.

Cas wanted to curse God for choosing this punishment, but he couldn’t find the will to do so, largely because Dean’s tongue was in his mouth.

But this wasn’t a real Dean. The Lord could recreate a perfect clone of Dean, identical down to the freckles tucked away behind his ears, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be nearly the same. Castiel hasn’t dealt with humans for very long in a very long time, but if there was anything he knew, it was that humans were the one beings that could not split into two twins.

Castiel pulled his hands back around Dean’s chest to his shoulders, pushing him away. “We have to stop this,” he whispered, but his voice was hoarse. He cocked his head, eyebrows creasing. “Really, Dean. I still have…” An alarm clock resting on a nightstand next to a bed read _5:30_. “I still have time.” His eyes focused on the clock.

“Your hands sure don’t agree with your mouth.”

Cas gave him a confused look, lips pursing. “Your body is a very interesting one to touch.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to say. Cas was watching him with a complicated look. He moved forward a fraction of an inch, perhaps to kiss him again, when the room bell rang. He jumped back from Castiel, and the latter’s gaze evened, head turning to the door.

“Room service,” a woman called.

Cas only watched the door. “Not now,” Dean called curiously.

The maid shuffled her feet outside the door. “Is this a bad time? I… I have towels.”

Dean sighed, eyes rolling back, and he stepped to the door reluctantly. Cas’ eyes centered on Dean’s hand twisting open the knob. “Listen, lady,” he smiled. Outside of the door stood a young woman in a maid outfit, peering in at Castiel. The experience gave him a feeling as though he were looking into a mirror. Dean rested his hip on the edge of the door, sprawling one arm above him.

“Oh, you’re the chick from the bar.” Dean showed white teeth to Castiel, tipping his head as if saying _help me_. “That back there was…” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

Once her eyes rested on the angel, they narrowed slowly, and her lips pulled upwards. Castiel tensed. “Dean, don’t-”

A number of things happened then. Castiel plunged himself towards Dean with the speed of a human, reaching out a hand. Dean tightened his body to slam the door shut - Cas’ warning had served to force his body to subconsciously take action, rather than startle him like any other slow person. The maid slammed her left hand onto the door, springing forward to drive herself through the doorway with a growl.

Her eyes flickered up to Castiel before he’d even moved, and they flashed with white heat. She pulled a knife from the fallen stack of towels she’d been carrying, and swung it down at Dean. He raised his hand and flinched, parrying the blow, and the maid plunged it through his palm, pushing towards his head and groaning.

Blood fell from the knife onto Dean and ran down the maid’s arm in thick streaks. Castiel pushed at the woman, but wherever his skin made contact with her, he burned. His vessel’s skin cooked itself just in the sight of a Holy presence in this hole in time, and it completely withered on contact, like toilet paper resting on top of a lighter.

Castiel was crying out, trying to get the woman away with as little contact as possible. The maid had one hand tearing at Dean’s throat, the other pushing down to his skull, ripping through his hand. Dean stumbled back, his free hand slapping at the woman with no burning - as if God, or whoever he put in charge of Castiel’s punishment, had made sure down to the very detail that he never interfered with Dean’s attackers.

“What the hell?” Dean strained, his voice raspy. Cas bared his teeth in pain, touching at the arm attaching itself to Dean’s throat and subconsciously pulling back and trying to touch again, with no apparent slowing or stopping. He could smell his own skin being burned, and nerves numbing made his eyes squinty and watery.

The maid hissed and let go of Dean’s throat to slap a hand to Castiel’s face. He screamed without meaning to, scratching at her hand. She pulled her knife out of Dean’s hand and dropped it, letting go of Castiel and backing out of the room. Dean backed away, gasping and holding his hand.

It was hard to see when eyelids had third degree burns on them. The maid reached into her outfit through her cleavage area and pulled out a gun. She aimed it at Dean and pulled the safety down with a click and a breathless smile.

“Cas, _move_!” Castiel knew he could stand in the way of his punishment, and it would still find a way to kill Dean without doing the same to him. He blinked open his eyes in time to see Dean try to stumble towards the door, to shut it, maybe. An explosive noise ricocheted around the room, filling Castiel’s ears, He slapped his palms to them, closing his eyes.

And then it was quiet.

Castiel willed himself to open his eyes. The maid had run off, and the door was left agape, Dean’s bloody hand print smeared on it. He dropped his hands. Dean was sitting on the floor, leaned up against the closet door. He stared up at Cas. The angel stared back. Blood trickled through Dean’s hand and a hole in his side.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna get us outta here?”

His eyes sunk to the floor. “I can’t do that.”

“What the hell do you mean by that? Just do your,” he fumbled for the words, “ _zappy_ thing and get us to the Impala.” Dean seemed frustrated at what had happened. “Cas. The cops.”

“They aren’t going to come.”

Dean leaned his head back against the door, sweating. He turned his view to the open door. Castiel hadn’t moved. “Cas, _please_.”

This was where his emotions began to be extracted, he presumed. A lump pushed up into his throat. “Dean, I cannot use my abilities here.”

“What, you mean in this ‘alternate’ world? I gotta say,” he added bitterly, “this seems pretty fucking real.” His eyes seemed to sink further into his skull, shadowed by the lighting. “Then get a knife and some sheets.”

“I can’t.” Dean’s face contorted into angry dubiety. Cas licked his lips. “I can’t interfere with your death.”

“Well.” He seemed at a loss for words. “Why the hell not?”

“I already told you, it’s my punishment.”

“What kind of punishment is this?”

A panicky feeling intertwined itself around Castiel’s heart, lacing and knotting and tightening. He swallowed. “I’m very sorry, Dean. My punishment is to watch you die. Every day.” Cas tried to search for something in Dean’s expression. He was always searching, again and again.

Dean seemed up to showing a coy sarcasm even on his deathbed. “Since when has any of my deaths affected you? I have a hobby of falling downstairs.”

“That’s not funny.”

He stared for a moment, and then smiled. “It was kinda funny.”

“It was not.”

His smile melted. “Cas, help me.”

This was where it happened. The pleading. The anger. The stages of grief raged in Dean, every day, right before it faded away with his eyes. “You are not real.” Cas turned his back on Dean.

He could hear his breathing pick up pace. “Cas, you bastard, _help me_. God damn it, Cas!” Dean groaned, and Cas could hear him shifting his weight, trying to get up. He hissed and collapsed back against the door almost simultaneously.

Cas twisted around to Dean, and both glared at each other. “Would you like me to show you?” Castiel asked, and when Dean only huffed, he glided to the open door. “When I tried to stop the maid…” He grabbed the door handle and then yanked his hand away with a sizzling sound.

Dean only watched with rough contemplation. Cas sighed and moved to the kitchenette, rifling through the drawers. “I cannot leave this room.” Whispering noises darkened his fingertips as he moved along the room. Dean watched with growing concern.

“My abilities are useless here. I would destroy this vessel before I could save you. And what would be the point of saving a recreation of my memory?”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Cas… Cas, _please_ . I’m real. I’m _real_.” He bit his lip, hand clenching into the fabric around his torso.

“I can only watch you bleed to death, and wait for the next day.” Castiel stood limply, having returned to the entry.

The other watched his wound in dismay, and then his face relaxed. He lifted his eyes to Cas darkly, grimacing. “You bastard.” Cas closed his eyes, fighting a familiar sting. “You self serving son of a bitch.” The angel shook his head. “You can’t help but follow the big guy up there, can you? I shouldn’t have put my trust in you. You’re just a broken soldier.”

“You’re not real.” Dean’s words always found a way to force itself into Castiel.

“All you can do is follow what everyone else says you should.”

“I’m doing what I was told to do.”

“Who the hell makes you live through _this_?” He stressed the word with a sound of rubbing fabric - Dean gesturing around the two.

Cas’ voice was only a whisper. “I know. I know, Dean.” His hands were in sweaty fists at his sides, melded into the folds of his trench coat. He bowed his head, refusing to see Dean.

“Why can’t you believe me for once, Cas?” Dean’s voice was gruff with pain. “I’m _real_ . What has God done for you? And what have _we_ done for you?”

“Dean wouldn’t say this.”

“Don’t play that card. You sound like the predictable amnesia patient in a freaking mental hospital sitcom.” He punched the door behind him, whispering a curse. “Don’t let me die, Cas. Don’t kill me.” His voice broke.

This was all of Dean’s emotions at play, an offhand puppet play in chaos. His actions and reactions bounced wildly off of each other, creating disturbances in his consistency. In other words, while Dean was dying in this world, Cas would see a wild spectrum of colors in him, all smashed together like a bad punchline.

It would be fascinating, were it not heartbreaking. Dean’s speeches could flare on two opposite ends of his emotional ability, like light switches hit at random. And even though it was obvious to Castiel that this script was terribly put together, he found himself using all of his will to stay put.

“ _Please_ ,” Castiel breathed. He forced his eyes open.

Dean was breathing raggedly. He held his side with one hand and tucked the wounded one in his armpit. When he pulled a hand to his face to brush away tears and sweat, blood smudged on his forehead. He swallowed and rubbed it on his shoulder distastefully, resolution in his eyes.

“I’ll just save myself then.” Dean began to pull at the fabric of his shirt.  

Castiel crouched at Dean’s side and cocked his head. “That is _ludicrous_ , Dean. Don’t do that to your body.” He touched Dean’s shoulder. He could feel his breathing snap up, heart rushing against his chest and in his ears.

His head swiveled to Cas. “I can’t die, Cas,” he pleaded, shaking his head. “Sammy needs me.” His lip quivered wetly, but his eyes were wide and still.

“I do this every day, Dean. This doesn’t affect me.” Castiel could say all he wanted to try and soothe Dean from uncharacteristic panic, but it wouldn’t stop his punishment. And it wouldn’t stop the tears pooling in his own eyes.

If every time he laid eyes on Dean was as good as the first time, then every time he laid eyes on his death was just as raw. Pain was truly a gateway to unlocking infinite metaphors. Castiel felt as though his heart were being strangled by an unseen hand, or maybe thrown into a new machine he had recently discovered, called a garbage disposal.

Maybe Cas just didn’t learn from his mistakes. If Dean was a mistake, then Lord, he’d keep on being wrong.

Dean’s lips were tight from scowling and trying to keep control of himself. He shook his head, and a tear dripped free. “You’re lying.” His face looked brittle and rumpled with pain. His breathing was in tatters, and Cas could hear him wheezing past his teeth. Dean dragged his hands to his trench coat, pulling at them, smearing blood on them.

“I thought that you wanted personal space,” Cas spoke, his voice low.

“Don’t be an ignorant douchebag right now,” Dean said, but his voice was barely audible. He coughed, and blood leaked on to his bottom lip. Cas jerked to wipe at his mouth.

“This,” Dean murmured, pressing a hand to Cas’ fingers, “this is all your fault. This-this is what happens to me... when you’re involved.”

“Dean wouldn’t say that, either.”

“Stay away from Sammy...You’re useless.” And he collapsed against Castiel.

When Cas felt Dean exhale into his ear, and was silent, he brought his eyes to the ceiling, inhaling shakily. His chin trembled, and he wrapped his arms tightly around Dean. He breathed wavering breaths, feeling Dean go cold under his fingers and willing him to stay warm.

It was dark outside before Castiel let him go. He propped Dean up against the door, wiping at his dribbling mouth with a thumb. A lock of his hair stuck up stubbornly from sweating. Castiel fixed that.

He stood from the hallway, brushed off his crusting trench coat, and stared at Dean for a moment longer. Then breathed in deeply, exhaled quickly, and turned to the end of the room, settling into a chair.

Castiel watched the night sky, littered with building lights and stars. He watched the moon crawl across the window until a cloud blocked his view. He peeked at the clock. _11:59_. Castiel allowed himself to crane his neck around and look one more time at this Dean. He almost looked peaceful, dead. Castiel righted his posture and blinked.

Now the clock read _12:00_. The curtains were closed, blocking his view of the atmosphere. He felt at his coat, and looked down. It was crisp and dry, a clean beige color. His face and fingers felt clean, unharmed. Cas raised his eyes to the hotel bed. A body was sleeping in it, breathing deeply. He scanned the hallway. The empty hallway. Dean’s body was gone; the door, shut; the knife, gone; the blood, invisible; his death, a memory.

Cas returned his eyes to Dean in the bed. He was deep in sleep, unaware that he had just died mere hours ago. Had died fifty two times now. Castiel folded his hands in his lap and waited. He rested his head back on the headrest. He felt so humanly tired.

It was seven-thirty in the morning when Dean woke, gasping and jumping from his pillow. His weary eyes searched the room wildly, and froze on Castiel. Then he relaxed, shoulders slumping, and fell back to the pillow. “Don’t sleep in too late, Cas,” he mumbled groggily.

“Hello, Dean.”

* * *

 

Dean was kneeling by the spot of ground where Sam had fallen into the trap. He must’ve sensed Castiel’s presence, since he gasped and looked him in the eyes. Castiel’s eyebrows crumpled. Was he out? _Am I out?_

“Cas, you’re alive?” Dean looked him up and down with bewilderment. As much as he could look, anyways. Luciel beat - and Castiel thinks of this expression lightly - the _shit_ out of him.

He almost wanted to laugh. He almost wanted to burst with jubilance at his resurrection. Cas felt good - he felt _great_. He felt as though he had seen sunlight for the first time in years - and maybe he had. His punishment was only a fold in time, and he couldn’t understand how he had spent the last decade inside of a box within a span of minutes in real time.

Being back meant Dean didn’t remember any of the last ten years; he also wasn’t a part of it in the first place. Castiel had a hard time looking at him without seeing his face stiff with rigor mortis. But he watched Dean with a curious look, a cocked head.

How he had escaped from Lucifer - alive - was astounding. He looked like he’d had golf balls surgically implanted into his face. The Lord had no idea how different Cas’ Dean was from the Dean that was currently trying to believe this angel was alive.

The way human eyes shone in sunlight, or the way a single strand of hair glittered… God created humans, but God could not, will never, ever be able to replicate them. “I’m better than that,” Cas replied, touching his fingers to Dean’s forehead.

Dean was much more desirable to watch now. He watched Castiel with disorientation and awe, like he’d never seen an angel before. Dean stood. He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Cas, are you God?”

Castiel almost laughed with relief. This Dean was broken with fatigue and loss. This Dean was ridiculously obtuse. This Dean was speaking in a way that Dean most definitely _would_ speak. Cas’ punishment had changed him. “That’s a nice compliment,” he murmured with a velvety tone, “but no.”

Dean only blinked, so Castiel continued. “Although, I do believe He brought me back.” He turned, tilting his head. He could feel his abilities soaking into every vein in this vessel, and his heart still ached from Dean’s 3,650th death. He spoke in a pillorying way, practically to himself.

"New and improved.”


End file.
